The Watcher
by JadedDana
Summary: A watcher's perspective of M & S's relationship


Watcher  
By JadedDana  
jadeddana@netscape.net  
  
Rating: PG (a bit of language)  
Category: V, A, maybe hints of R  
Spoilers: various for myth eps through 6th   
season  
Summary: A watcher's perspective of M &   
S's relationship  
  
  
*******  
Watcher  
By JadedDana  
********  
  
  
I look through my binoculars at her   
empty apartment and remember how much I   
hated her once. Strange, isn't it, how   
those you hate at first become the ones   
you care most deeply about in the end?  
At first, I hated her because she   
could be with him, and I couldn't even   
speak with him. He was not to even know I   
was still alive, and I was careful to obey   
Their orders and not let him catch a   
glimpse of me. But for some reason They   
assigned surveillance of him, and her, to   
me, and so I have become intimately aware   
of every detail of both their lives in the   
past 6 years. Their homes, their cars,   
their office, all are bugged. I know   
those two are naive to think they are only   
watched closely when they are 'close to   
the Truth'. I've heard them speak of it.   
How wrong they are!   
I hated her simply because she was   
there with him. Then I hated her because   
she was close to him; she made him smile.   
That used to be MY job. After a while, I   
grew to hate her because he trusted her   
like he never trusted me. No matter what   
it was, he never trusted me completely.   
And he protects her. He watches her back   
even when there is nothing to fear, as if   
he's afraid she'll vanish into the mist   
like so many others in his life did--like   
I did.   
Just when I had decided I should not   
hate her simply because she had everything   
I wanted, I was given another reason to   
hate her. She disappeared, and he was   
torn apart. I know that it was not her   
fault that They took her, but I still   
hated her because her presence (or more   
accurately, absence) hurt him. And when   
she was returned, I hated her because she   
made him smile, and because I knew what   
happened to those who were returned. I   
knew the pain she would inflict on him   
soon. It was just a matter of time.  
Later, when he went to New Mexico and   
everyone told me he was dead, I didn't   
believe Them. I was like her in that way;   
in fact, I'm sure if we had made diary   
entries about that time when he was   
missing, they would sound exactly alike.   
We had abandoned our duty to protect the   
man we cared about very deeply for just   
one moment, and in that moment, he died.   
Or at least appeared to. I had been in   
London the weekend the shit hit the fan,   
and by the time I had returned, they were   
already gone. I hated her because she   
shot him, and I hated her because she left   
him alone, and I hated myself because I   
had done the same thing.  
I was watching his apartment when   
Skinner and she pointed their guns at each   
other, and all three of us knew nobody was   
going to get shot, although neither   
acknowledged that fact then or later. I   
saw her face when he walked through the   
door. That was when I first knew that she   
loved him heart and soul. I don't know if   
it was romantic love--I still don't--but I   
know that she would give her life for him,   
she would kill for him without a second   
thought, and she would sell her very soul   
to the devil if it would save his. In   
this, we are sisters. And I hate her for   
that, too.  
Later that year, when they couldn't   
stop fighting because they were terrified   
to let the other close enough to be hurt   
again, I hated her. And I hated him at   
that point too. I was amazed that her   
curse had not materialized yet, but I was   
sure that it would come, eventually.  
When Mother had that stroke and he   
wouldn't leave her bedside, I watched from   
a hill outside the hospital, and I hated   
everyone who had caused him so much pain.   
That included me, I realized, but I   
ignored that fact. It was my job to   
protect him, but he still got hurt.   
It tore my heart out when he saw that   
mute little clone and thought it was his   
sister. I don't think he realized that 25   
years had really passed and that his baby   
sister was no longer a little girl. I   
doubt he realizes it even now.   
I traveled to Russia with him and   
Krychek--there was no way I was trusting   
that rat to protect him. I knew he   
wouldn't. Since I was gone, I could not   
observe her reactions to all this, but she   
didn't chase after him and I hated her for   
that, even when I knew rationally she did   
him more good staying here. No one would   
ever believe it, but I was the one who   
allowed for his escape from the camp, and   
I smoothed his exit from the country as   
well. I laughed when I heard about   
Krychek, before I went to his apartment in   
New York and allowed him to cry on my   
shoulder. I hate him too, but I suppose I   
must love him in some way--otherwise I   
would have shot him already, and damn what   
Spender says. I suppose the two of us   
have almost as twisted and intricate a   
relationship as Fox's partnership.  
I watched from a balcony when he   
walked into the courtroom, and I hated her   
when he gave her that hug--I knew that he   
was willing to risk everything for her in   
a way he was never willing to for me. I   
have known this intellectually for years,   
but somehow that made it concrete and   
real, and I hated it.  
I hated her when her first nosebleed   
came, but to my surprise, I hated Spender   
and all of Them even more. I suppose that   
somehow in my years of spending my life   
watching theirs, I grew to admire her   
strength, her integrity, her ability to   
survive loss and still stand tall. I   
hated that, too. She was everything that   
I was not, at least in her character. In   
other areas, we are much alike.  
I hated her during those months for   
pushing him away, even as I cried quietly   
in the apartment across the street from   
hers as I watched her solemnly looking   
into her mirror for hours during the   
night. I suppose she was asking why to   
her God, herself, anyone who would listen.   
She never made a sound, though. I felt   
the pain of this curse I foresaw in a way   
I hadn't any of the others. It was   
actually at my urging that Spender   
approached him with the cure. I was   
watching his apartment that night, and I   
saw him shoot his watcher. I'm sure he   
thought that was the only one. I followed   
him to her apartment, heard their plans.   
I didn't report it yet for some reason.   
But I watched him run into the hospital,   
and I'll never forget the look of   
desperation on his face as he screamed at   
the staff. I hated her then for being   
weak enough to succumb to this, even when   
I knew she had held out the longest of any   
burdened with this curse.  
I hated Spender when he forced me to   
finally meet with him. It was easy,   
pretending to be everything he expected,   
but it ripped my heart. I knew it would   
actually help him, that he had held on for   
too long already, but nothing has ever   
hurt me as much as the expression on his   
face as I drove off.  
I didn't hate her that Christmas,   
when she found Emily. I hurt for her so   
much that I cried until I was sick. I   
hated my father, and Spender, and everyone   
who had every been involved in the   
Project, in this abomination that would   
create children for the sole purpose of   
killing them. I think that was what   
turned me from Them more than anything. I   
hated them with a venom I had never felt   
towards her, no matter how much he was   
hurt. I am still glad that he was only   
there part of the time, that she pushed   
him away during this period. It is such a   
raw pain, I don't think he could have   
handled it if she chose to share it with   
him. I noticed that after this, she chose   
black more and more often, that she no   
longer walked by parks or schoolyards,   
that she avoided her girlfriends with   
children and even her mother. She was in   
mourning much deeper than even my mother   
was when she thought she lost me. It was   
terrifying, too, because it was a hidden   
pain. But that is how Dana is--always a   
brave front, even when she's so empty   
inside the only thing left is the front.  
I'm not sure exactly when I started   
to think of her as Dana and not 'the   
subject'. I know sometime during her   
first year with Fox I began to think of   
her as Scully, but sometime between the   
cancer and her daughter's death, she   
became Dana to me.   
That summer, when the witch came   
back, and they lost their precious files,   
I began to hate her again, but more   
because I was supposed to than out of true   
anger. I did truly hate her when she   
tried to leave him after Dallas. I hated   
him for trying to use a kiss to keep her   
with him, and I hated her for allowing it   
to almost happen. I hated her for making   
him go to the ends of the earth to save   
her, and I hated him for going. I   
followed them there, too, but I neglected   
to inform my boss of my trip. I'm sure he   
was surprised when he realized Fox was   
actually INSIDE their dirtiest little   
secret. It would have been fun to watch   
his face when he found out.  
After they made it out, and Fox had   
fainted, I had no choice but to emerge   
from my hiding spot behind the hill and   
help Dana get him to my vehicle, which had   
plenty of gas, and plenty of blankets.   
They would have frozen to death if I had   
not stepped in. I was forced to give Dana   
a quick injection once they were settled,   
though, which would make my memory fade   
from her mind. I could NOT let her tell   
him I was there. Once I was sure they   
would be ok, I skied over a few miles (ok,   
maybe closer to 50 or so) and let the   
crazy scientists living on this hunk of   
ice know where they were. They actually   
rescued those two. I then skedaddled back   
to DC, hopefully before Spender realized I   
was gone, and played dumb. I never got   
the impression he thought any differently,   
but with him, you never know.  
I laughed at them so many times that   
fall, when Fox lost interest in   
everything, and Dana still followed him   
all over the country chasing UFOs and   
other paraphernalia. It was really sad,   
but no matter how angry I got at my   
brother when he ran off to Bermuda, I   
still laughed, somehow. Dana was no   
longer mourning her daughter, although she   
had still not recovered entirely. She   
still wore black almost exclusively, but   
she remembered how to smile again, and for   
that I was thankful. Fox went stir-crazy   
checking backgrounds and investigating big   
piles of manure, but he wasn't as   
disillusioned as he had been that spring.   
They laugh a lot more now, I've realized.   
They have not made any kind of follow-up   
to Fox's foolish move in his hallway this   
summer, and I am not sure why. Maybe all   
the stress they were under in Antarctica   
made them forget it. Maybe they realized   
what a mistake that would be--at this   
point, any kind of misstep would terminate   
their partnership and possibly their   
careers. But they are closer friends than   
ever before, and I don't hate her for it   
anymore. I now view this whole conspiracy   
the same way they do. An evil that should   
be eliminated. However, I can't reveal my   
existence to them yet--they are still   
being too closely watched by others, less   
friendly than I am. I'm just sitting   
tight, biding my time until I have the   
opportunity to help my brother and his   
best friend uncover the truth and abolish   
the lies. Until then, I will watch, and   
wait.  
  
The End.   
  
  



End file.
